


Wednesday Night

by helena_s_renn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Sam, Coda, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, Episode: s08e10 Torn and Frayed, M/M, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-25 22:27:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena_s_renn/pseuds/helena_s_renn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a year in Purgatory, Dean returned to a brother and lover who was distant, apathetic and unenthusiastic. They didn't touch for months. Till Wednesday night. (After the end credits...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wednesday Night

**Author's Note:**

> ...If they'd filmed the next ten minutes.
> 
> Beta by Christian.Howe

“I’m going to take a walk, clear my head.” 

Dean had nodded. He’d been the one that had said both feet in or both feet out, no halfway. 

The next few hours were the longest of his recent life. 

 

He’d sat staring at the old plastic TV while outside, it went from twilight to dusk to dark. Listening. But there was nothing. His chest grew tighter, the space around his heart compressing in on itself.

When he stopped listening, he heard it: the crunch of footsteps on gravel. The pace, the gait, the slight scuffle of size 13 feet pushing against the ground. Dean remained where he was, because it could be nothing more than a temporary stop. A farewell. 

The door creaked open. Sam’s presence filled the room, the height and breadth and scent of him. When Dean glanced over, curious in spite of himself, a wave of relief washed over him. It was the first time in days that he’d seen his brother smile. There was light in the hazel-green eyes. In response, Dean’s lips curved up at the corners; he could feel the crinkles at the outer corners of his eyes deepen. 

Before he plunked down on the worn couch beside Dean, Sam stopped at the fridge for beers, the eternal peace offering. In the flickering light, they drank together. When they were done and Sam reached for him, Dean met him with his love and his body, the sharing of it long overdue. 

And fierce. If their union was brand new – again – it was not tenuous. There was too much history and too much need to go gently. “Aw, hell, c’mere...” Dean didn’t even think about what he was doing, he curled his left hand into Sam’s long hair and kissed his half-open mouth. And again, sealing their lips together, pushing his tongue into heat, meeting its mate for the first time in eighteen months. He kept his eyelids open deliberately, needing to see every spark and nuance in Sam’s changeable irises, see his pupils blow with arousal and then fulfillment. There were those sounds that he missed so much, everything pitched low, lower, resonance in his spine and wrapping around his dick like Sam’s impossibly long fingers that reached into his fly and enfolded him. 

“Ahh! Ahh!” Dean panted, open-mouthed. Following the motion of the hand down his pants, he rocked into that grip. Sam had him by one ass cheek, too, holding him against his massive chest, heart beating so hard that Dean could feel the rapid thud-thud through clothes, and his own skin and bone. 

Drawing back an inch, Sam whispered, “Want you... Dean, please.” His breath gusted out hot, curling against Dean’s exposed throat.

“Yeah...” There was no doubt, but that ‘yeah’ felt so good.

They needed to be naked, and like always it took too long. The cotton stretched as Dean pulled his shirt overhead, revealing his torso. Still smooth, always would be probably he noted as Sam’s palm slid over his chest, Dean chased his brother’s nipple with his tongue while he combed his fingers through the soft hairs. There were more now, since he’d last touched Sam. They had moved from seated to kneeling up on the couch, facing, tangles of jeans and socks and shirts soon strewn everywhere. 

“Can’t get enough of you,” Dean groaned. He couldn’t. He had starved for this. Inside his lower pushed-out jaw, his salivary glands prickled. “Kiss me again.” All up the thick length of Sam’s cock and down again, Dean gathered slick from the yawning little slit while Sam jacked him hard, but slowly, drawing out the sensation.

Yeah, a kiss, and another, tongues curling together. Sam’s breath came in heavy pants; he swallowed repeatedly, as if to force down indiscriminate words. He snarled, bared his teeth. Deep within his cheeks, his dimples flashed, and Dean smiled through his drool at his brother’s sex-face.

“It’s okay, Sammy.” Dean took his mouth again, a feat of its own with his head tilted back. His skin shivered all over with those huge hands running up and down every inch of him, not only his aching dick but down his back and over the meat of his ass, the sensitive nerves at the lowest curve where it sat upon his thighs, then darting around to pinch his nipple. “Son of a bitch!” he swore, as his balls were enclosed in Sam’s huge paw and squeezed, just right. It was too damned good. 

They worked their hands on each other, slick and slicker with drooling mouths and sweat popping on foreheads and spines, and leaking pre-cum. Always a biter, Sam left a string of bruises over the pale freckled skin of Dean’s neck and down his shoulder. For days, the sting of being marked would remind him; he relished his bother’s teeth and tongue upon him, so much. Incapable of holding still, Dean straddled Sam thigh and snugged their hips into alignment. Between, their bare flesh slid against tight abdominal muscles. 

“Wanna fuck you,” Dean breathed, shuddering already. It was soon, really soon, but dammit, it had been a long bumpy road to get to here and he hadn’t been with anyone this whole time, been waiting Sam out, slowly going crazy while the fucker made up his mind about his girl and his life. This was _their_ life now, and Dean was claiming it. Claiming – reclaiming – Sam. 

Without a word, Sam kissed him hard, then turned around, rested his forearms on the back of the couch while he pushed his knees wide apart, head turned to the side to keep one eye on Dean. Lube, right. Dean had stashed a tiny tube of it in his jeans pocket just in case (he always did), and he dove for it. 

Oh god, what a fucking... joy, a relief, to have his hands back on Sam and in Sam, to open him up. There was the awkward breech of that first finger. It took a while, Dean petting Sam’s lower back just above the dimples and trying to keep himself from thrusting against Sam’s butt. The second digit, the rim too tight at first so he had to start again. Inside, Sam was searing hot, so smooth, reacting to every twist of Dean’s hand with mini-clenches. And all the while, Sam kept his gaze pinned to his brother’s face, moaning Dean’s name like a mantra. Like he was god. Not for the first time, it was rapture. 

At last, and this signal had not changed, came the arch and hip roll that meant Sam was ready for him. “Dean... do it. Fuck me.” They were working class boys, after all – the words were crude but they didn’t need more than that to convey it was making love and it _was_ love and they were one. They didn’t need sweetness – that could come later. It was better rough and hard.

“Yeah... gonna fuck you open.” Then they were one, joined. Dean knelt behind Sam, between his knees, threaded himself into the tight, slick hole. The first try, he only got as far as the flare of his tip. But he couldn’t stop; he was hell-bent on this now, on thrusting and rocking into Sam, fucking his brains out. 

“Nooooo...” Sam growled. From anyone else, it would have sounded like rejection. It wasn’t. This from Sam, where he was right now, body being invaded in the first hellacious penetration, was just part of his sexual vocabulary. It meant it hurt but give him more. Dean pushed, pelvis-first, a thrust heavy with pent up-need, and in the next shove got himself in halfway before bottoming out and in the next, to the base, his balls already full and tight when they smacked against Sam’s. 

And now Dean’s noises began to echo his brother’s; they never did until one of them had crawled into the other’s skin, as it were. Till one was fucking and the other was being fucked and they were both well on the way to falling into the abyss of what they and they alone could give each other. He held tight to Sam’s sharp hipbones, let go of any restraint. 

This was it. Go time. What he was meant to do. “Give it to you so good...” Between them, however aggressive the physical act, it was never less than holy between them.

“Yes... yeah... so good, Dean...” Every cut muscle in Sam’s torso was flexed; he reached down to jack himself in the same rhythm that Dean beat into his ass from the inside. “Ride me... do it harder...”

Before, it had been the difference between holding back and not. Sam’s command saw Dean straining to nail him deeper, more forcefully. Little by little, Dean’s voice crept high in little whines of exertion and pleasure. No way he could last, his thighs trembled and his back was curled convex to push the throbbing underside of his cock at the right angle. His little brother had always been remarkably responsive to having his prostate touched. Anyone would have known when Dean got it right; Sam arched and howled, his hole clamping and spasming, intensifying the silky-tight caress around him to excruciating levels. 

Unbearable. Too much. “Uuunnngggh, cumming, Sammy...” Dean groaned.

“Yessssss...” hissed Sam, already heaving his seed in ropes against the shabby couch. “Give it up, Dean!” His lashes fluttered down. They were spangled but only that; his cheekbones were flushed but dry.

And who was Dean to refuse? Dean had a strong will and strong appetites, and his strongest craving of all was under him now, cumming from the fucking he’d been dealt. He needed desperately to unload. It wasn’t just the physical hunger for sex. They both knew that without having to repeat it. Sam looked back at him, with every ounce of keen, sharp passion satisfied and that was enough. Pulling Sam down on him hard, Dean shoved one last time as he came, shooting deep into his brother’s magnificent body. His groans of completion were wordless, but no less meaningful. Falling forward, Dean rested against the ripped strength of Sam’s back. 

At some point they pulled apart and flopped down, lying spoons-in-the-drawer with Sam in back. “Don’t bitch about cuddling, Dean. There’s only so much room on this couch.” 

That was true, their feet were hanging off the end. For once, Dean was happy to just lay there and let Sam continue to touch him, fingertips soft like rediscovery caressing his belly. They’d been allowed to throw the dice more times than anyone deserved, but he’d never stopped wishing for this chance since the day he’d got sucked into Purgatory. Since they, well, Sam, had been old enough to do and want anything sexual, this was them. This was how they shared love. And it was even logical, with their crazy-dangerous lives. One of the perks. 

“Sam.” 

“What?” 

“Did you think about... bailing?”

The answer took some time. “Thought about it. Not all that seriously. See, as much as I grew to love her, I love you more. Always have, always will.” 

“Me too, Sammy.” There had been times Dean loved others, too. He would never hold that in contempt. As long as Sam came back to him. And he had.


End file.
